


Dirty Glass and Bloody Rings

by Celestial_000



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I swear, Kinda, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Harley Keener, Villain Peter Parker, but not really, its complicated, its so happy, just two dumb boys being dumb, this is actually secretly fluffy I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 03:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestial_000/pseuds/Celestial_000
Summary: Harley just wants his fiancé home on their anniversary.Just not like this.
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Dirty Glass and Bloody Rings

**Author's Note:**

> UM. This is my first Parkner fic. I’m trying to expand my horizons. So please excuse any mistakes and oocness, I’m so sorry.
> 
> So. Soulmate AU where only your soulmate can kill you. It’s not common to have a soulmate, but it’s not rare either. like 50/50. 
> 
> So, you know someone’s your soulmate when you touch or something. And soulmates can still die, kind of. If they receive an injury that would kill a normal person, then they go into a coma-like death, where their soulmates can decide to ‘pull the plug’ or something like that. 
> 
> Also AU where the Accords are bad. Well, more bad. And Heros are villains. And Mysterio never revealed Peter’s identity. 
> 
> ⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ AND SPOILERS  
> There is a flesh wound descriptively described in here, and taking care of said wound. I don’t really gloss over it. So. If you’re queasy maybe skip over it. It starts at “He takes a closer look at the wound” and ends at “When he knots the last suture.”

As a rule, Harley never told anyone about his identity. Except Pepper- anyone else who had known is dead. He hasn’t even told his fiancé, Peter Parker. 

He wants to, _ god  _ does he want to. And it’s not like he doesn’t trust him, because he  _ does.  _ More than anyone else. But it’s not the matter of trust that keeps him from spilling. It’s the threat of losing him. The threat of villains torturing him for information. Or any other sick thing they can come up with. 

So yes, he's generally somebody who keeps to themself. Which means he doesn’t appreciate people who try digging around his life. Especially people who wear red and blue suits, and shoot spider webs from their hands. 

He isn’t sure what it is they’re looking for, but the more information Spider-Man scrounges up, the more anxious he gets about Peter's safety. He knows, realistically, nobody can kill Peter except him. And he would never do that. So he should be- objectively- safe. 

But he isn’t, because that doesn’t mean Peter can’t get roughed up. 

And he can’t kill Spider-Man, which- kind of sucks, but he can still get him locked up. 

Though part of him wishes he  _ could  _ kill him, which is unlike him. But he’s been after the agile villain for  _ two  _ whole years, and each time he always finds some way to escape. It’s annoying, and quite honestly- it wounds his pride. 

Harley sighs, leaning forward on the couch, and staring forlornly at the floor. 

Peter had another late shift tonight. It’s not unusual for him to cancel plans, but today had been special, and they’d both promised to be here. Harley can’t be too mad though, this isn’t exactly the first time either of them have cancelled anniversary plans- but it  _ is  _ their first one since getting engaged. Does that make it more important? He doesn’t know. 

Releasing a loud groan, he fiddles with the phone in his hands, debating whether he should call or not. This is almost the same situation as the night he proposed- well they both proposed. 

Peter had been late again, but this time Harley had also been just coming home from a mission- 

_ Harley flies toward the window they always keep open- which. Probably a safety hazard, but if it works, it works. He tumbled through, more ungraceful than usual, but his mind was entirely elsewhere. He disassembled his suit, packing it away into a case he knew Peter wouldn’t look in. Harley then throws open the closet doors, rummaging through the clothes for a suit he knew he had. He’d bought it last week, after all.  _

_ As soon as he finds it, he clumsily gets dressed, while keeping one eye on the clock. He doesn’t have much time now. When it comes to the tie, whatever his mother had taught him seemed to go out the window in his rush. Eventually he just throws the whole thing onto the bed. It’s not worth his time anyway.  _

_ Finally, Harley brushes his hand through his hair, hoping it doesn’t look as frazzled as he feels.  _

_ He’d hoped he had more time to prepare, cook a nice dinner and light some candles maybe. At least he’d prepared for this occasion though, having ordered some takeout from Peter’s favorite restaurant.  _

_ Harley spoons some of the food into the dishes, hastily carrying them to their small table and lighting a candle. He even tries tidying up the living room, which still had blankets strewn over from their last movie night. Neither of them are home often, but that’s okay. Because they don’t need to be together all the time to feel secure in their relationship, besides , they have enough practice from when Harley still lived in Tennessee.  _

_ That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to spend every waking moment with Peter, because he does. All the time.  _

_ He’s holding a pile of blankets in his arms when Peter comes through the door, clothes wrinkled and hair tousled. Harley doesn’t even notice he’d been staring when Peter clears his throat. _

_ “Cleaning day?” he asked, and Harley’s almost confused when he realizes what he’s still holding.  _

_ “No, I was just...tidying up,” Harley responded, throwing the items in question back on the couch. They’ll get to those later.  _

_ “Oh? Is there a holiday I forgot about? Or a special occasion? It’s not our anniversary is it? Oh jesus Harls I’m so-” _

_ “No-” Harley started, effectively cutting him off before he can work himself into a guilt-induced panic, “There is no anniversary. Ya make it sound like I never clean.” _

_ Which he doesn’t. Not usually. He does what he can to help around the house, but most of the day he’s at work, and then he comes home and collapses on the couch, waiting for Peter to come home from his night shift. It’s pretty shitty they only see each other a few hours a day, but as he said before, they make it work in their own way.  _

_ “That’s not what I meant- it’s just- Aren’t you tired?”  _

_ Harley smiled, heart warmed by Peter's concern for him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.  _

_ “Maybe, but I’m also hungry. Whaddya say to some dinner darlin’?”  _

_ “You made food?” Peter asked, surprise evident in his voice.  _

_ “Well, no, not exactly. But I did order some of your favorites,” Harley told him, distantly wondering if Peter might have appreciated it more if Harley actually put time into making it home-made. Oh well, it’s not like he can’t change it now. _

_ But Harley's worries seem unfounded, because when Peter sees the small dinner he’d set up, his eyes shine in delight, a pleased smile gracing his beautiful face. _

_ Ugh, when he’d get so sappy?  _

_ They talk throughout dinner, picking fun at the other and overall just enjoying each other's company. Peter excitedly tells him about a new project he’s working on, and in return, Harley tells him what broken car he’s trying to fix.  _

_ When dinner is coming to an end, Harley starts getting nervous. His leg keeps bouncing, and he’s sure there's a sheen of sweat visible on his face. He knows Peter wants to get married- they’ve had this conversation before. But Harley’s not so good with words- romantic words. And he hadn’t practiced any speech before this, hoping the words would just come to him.  _

_ Fat chance.  _

_ Harley can’t stop Peter from getting up to clean the dishes, so he follows him to the kitchen.  _

_ He waits a few minutes, and helps Peter with the dishes. When he sees that their almost done he excuses himself for a moment, ignoring Peter’s curious look. He grabs the ring from underneath his dresser, stuffing it in his pocket and returning to the kitchen.  _

_ “Peter,” he called, shifting from foot to foot.  _

_ “Hm?” Peter didn’t turn around like he’d hoped, instead picking up a glass and scrubbing it clean.  _

_ “I- um, well. Here- just,” he pulls the ring from his pocket, holding it up, and preparing to grab Peter’s attention again.  _

_ But then the glass Peter was washing slips from his hand, shattering on the edge of the counter. Harley jumps, and he looses his hold on the ring. He doesn’t pay it any attention, moving towards Peter instead. _

_ Harley grabs his hand, checking for cuts, “Did you cut yourself?”  _

_ He wasn’t incredibly worried, it was just a glass, after all. But he can’t help but want Peter to go through life with no pain at all. _

_ Peter shakes his head, “Besides, I heal fast.”  _

_ “I know. I’ll just...clean this up.” He doesn’t think twice before going to the broom closet. _

_ Hurrying back to the kitchen, he’s stopped by the sight of Peter standing in the middle of the kitchen, back facing him. This isn't what worries him, it’s the way Peter is completely still, head hung as if he’s looking at something,  _

_ Harley can’t breathe when he realizes what the item is.  _

_ Before Harley can doubt himself to much, Peter’s shoulders start shaking uncrontrollably. _

_ Oh lord, Peter probably wasn’t ready yet, and now Harley’s ruined everything.  _

_ “Darlin’...I-” Harley stops, unsure how he can salvage the situation, _

_ Peter turns around, but there aren’t tears on his face. None at all. Instead, he’s laughing, eyes scrunched shut as he hunches over and wheeezes.  _

_ Harley stares dumbly, feet rooted to the ground. Is he making fun of him? Does he think this is a joke? But Peter isn’t cruel like that. He couldn’t be even if he tried.  _

_ “Oh, Harley. T-this is just-” Peter gasps, still giggling, “J-just wait here.”  _

_ Peter leaves the room, and Harley stands there, realization dawned on him. Is that-? Could Peter have-? _

_ Peter returns with his giggles under control, a giant crooked grin in its place instead.  _

_ In his hand is a tiny black box.  _

_ Harley gasps, his own suprised chuckle leaving him.  _

_ “I was planning on doing it next time we were in Tennessee but…” Peter looked away shyly, holding the ring out to him.  _

_ Harley looks at it, but doesn’t take it, “I believe I was proposing first.”  _

_ Peter scoffs, “Seriously? Does it matter?”  _

_ Harley nods seriously, picking up his own ring box from the counter where Peter had deposited it.  _

_ “In that case- if I remember correctly, you never actually got to the proposal part,” Peter pointed out, raising an eyebrow.  _

_ “Yes but-” _

_ “Plus, you weren’t very good at hiding it. I m-mean I knew, kinda,” Peter confessed, cutting him off. _

_ Harley’s mouth drops open, “What.” _

_ “You tried cleaning up even though you always sleep as soon as you get home from work, and you bought takeout from my favorite restaurant, which you don’t like. And you’re wearing a suit. We’re having dinner at home, and you’re wearing a suit.”  _

_ Harley could smack himself. He hadn’t thought about how wearing a suit might be a bit suspicious. He’d only wanted to look nice.  _

_ He knew he should’ve just taken Peter out somewhere.  _

_ “To be honest, I thought the ring was going to be in my food or something. I’m glad it wasn’t- I mean, I-I still would’ve said yes. I would’ve loved it no matter what you did, I’m just glad I’m not choking on my engagement ring y’know? ‘Cause that would really suck, like how would we-” _

_ “Peter- I get it, calm down,” Harley said, exasperated. “Wait. People do that? Isn’t that...a safety hazard or somethin’?”  _

_ “Yeah, it’s supposed to be romantic.”  _

_ “What’s romantic about your partner dying?” Harley asked, seriously confused. What if they don’t notice there’s something in their food? _

_ “I don’t know, maybe if you wanted to...murder them or something.” Peter shrugged.  _

_ “That’s not romantic darlin’.”  _

_ “Yeah- but that’s not the point! The point is that it doesn’t matter who gives who the ring first.” _

_ “Sure, then that means you should be fine if I go first,” Harley smirks, raising his eyebrow, daring him to argue.  _

_ Peter dares apparently, because he scoffs, whispering a fervent, “Unbelievable.”  _

_ They seem to be at a standstill. Harley wants to propose first, and Peter really doesn’t care, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let him win so easily. That would be foolish- and not to mention, boring.  _

_ Peter proposed first.  _

Harley doesn’t know why he’s remembering that now of all days, maybe he’s really that sentimental, or maybe his brain is trying to unconsciously tell him they don’t work the way they used to. Which isn’t true. 

Nothing’s change. 

Right?

Harley sends a quick text to Peter. He knows that by this point, his fiancé is going to be home late, so there’s no point in leaving the food to waste. He squishes the pizza box into the fridge, and places the wine bottle back in their winery. 

He’s just decided he’ll watch TV until Peter comes home when his phone starts ringing. Except- it’s not his personal phone, but his work one. The one that only goes off incase of an emergency. He knows-  _ he knows  _ Peter’s fine- he’s late all the time. But tht doesn’t stop his heart from racing everytime he hears that sound. That maybe someone’s found out who he- found out the best way to make him hurt even though they can’t kill him. 

He speed walks to his bedroom, opening up his drawer he keeps locked and taking out the blaring phone. 

“What happened?” He asks immediately, heart beating loudly in his ears. 

“We need you on the field, suit up and head to 2763 West Bordway, it’ll be the empty warehouse on the corner.”

Harley clenching his jaw. He’s always hated it when they try sending him out with no information- it’s like they  _ want _ him to die. 

“I’m going to need details first,” he tells the caller, already suiting up. 

“Agent Broxford has been unresponsive for the last four hours, the building he was in has been destroyed. He was last with Spider-Man. We’re aware you’ve been following his case, or have you changed your mind?” 

Harley sucks in a breath, feeling his blood freeze in his veins. Spider-Man is a menace- he’s messy, unpredictable- a vigilante at best. He’s broken some low-grade villians out of jail, and destroyed some property, but he’s never  _ hurt  _ anyone before. Not more than a few bruises and scratches he means. 

It seems he’s had a change of heart. 

“No, no I haven’t.” 

He closes his helmet over his head, and flies out the window.

Arriving at the warehouse he comes upon a few realizations. One, that the Accords didn’t bother to tell him what to expect. Two, which branches off of one, is that he’s going into this blind. Spider-Man could have fled by now- unless he knew Iron Lad was coming. They’ve had multiple fights in the past- and most of them seemed to end with Harley getting webbed up and Spider-Man running away. 

He tries not to think about how many times he’s lost against the vigilante. 

He looks around the dusty area, wondering if he should call out or not. He doesn't think yelling something like “Come out or I’ll blast your head off!” will work. 

Besides, he wouldn’t even be able to follow through with that threat. Spider-Man’s certainly not his soulmate- therefore he can’t kill him. 

He’s unsure if he should be disappointed or delighted. 

He walks over broken glass and loose floorboards, knowing that with Spider-Man's enhanced hearing he should already know he’s here. He doesn’t know what state he’ll find Agent Broxford in other than dead which could be a range of things.

Harley isn’t sure how many rooms he’s going to have to check- the warehouse is no small thing, but luckily he doesn’t seem to have to wait long. The next room he steps in is wide, and cluttered with empty boxes and graffiti. There’s broken glass next an open window, where a trembling figure clad in a blue and red suit stands. 

Halryey stands behind him, waiting for...something to happen. 

“I didn’t mean...I didn’t mean to-”

“Where’s Broxford? The guy you hurt, where is he?” Harley demands, cutting him off. 

“Oh, that’s his name? He’s dead,” Spider-Man says, his voice hitching at the last word.

Harley blinks, his fighting stance loosening. 

“Dead? Please. There’s no way-!” Harley stops, clenching his fist together. Yelling isn’t going to get him anywhere. If anything it seems to make the figure in front of him tremble more. Still. He’s not going to get answers easily anyway. 

Spider-man is still a nuisance, and he needs to take him in now more than ever. 

He can get answers later. 

Harley charges up one of his repulsors, pointing his hand at Spider-Man. 

“You’re coming with me, and if you don’t want to make your situation worse- I'd do it without causing more trouble.” 

Spider-Man turns around, “I would, but people still need me.” 

“Need you?” Harley brings up his other hand, “You mean those villains you keep saving? Sorry to break it to you, but that’s not a very noble cause.” 

“Not to you, but to all those ‘villains’ as you call them- I’m sure they’d disagree,” he says, bringing his fists up. 

Harley scoffs, not bothering with a response as he fires off one of his repulsors. Spider-Man dodges easily, jumping up and clinging to the wall. He flings himself forward, shooting out string from his hands. Harley flies to the side, thinking the webs were aimed towards him. But instead the webs stick to the ceiling, and Spider-Man uses this momentum to swing forward. His foot makes contact with Harley’s armour, sending him crashing to the ground. 

Harley doesn’t give himself a second to think, immediately tumbling to the side and firing off another repulsor in the direction he thinks his enemy is. 

He pushes himself back into the air, flying from the room in hopes of drawing Spider-man into a more open space- it makes it more difficult for him to use his webs to his leverage that way. 

Another web is shot off in his direction, attaching itself to his helmet and blocking his vision. 

Harley grunts in frustration letting off another blast as he uses his other hand to tear the web off his face. In his struggle, Spider-Man kicks him again. Harley is sent to the ground, but this time, he grabs his opponent's ankle, shooting up before he hits the ground and slamming Spider-Man into the concrete.

Spider-Man wraps a web around Harley’s arms, throwing him down next to him. He then rolls back to his feet, crouching onto the ceiling.

“You’re all the same! Condemning innocent people without a second thought! Do you even know what’s going on around you? Or do you just not care?” Spider-Man yells, wrapping another web around him and sending him towards the wall. Harley catches himself, rearing back his fist and flying towards his opponent. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but saying all that nonsense isn’t going to get you out of this!” 

“So you’re really just that oblivious huh? No surprise there,” he quips, springing himself forward once again. 

Harley flies to the side, watching in surprise as Spider-Man breaks one of the beams from the wall and flings it at him. Harley catches it with his hand, throwing it back at Spider-Man. 

Spider-Man laughs, sounding a bit hysterical as he attaches another web to the beam, but this time instead of throwing it he pulls his arm back and swings it forward, using all his might. The object crashes against Harley’s armour. Before Harley can get a grip on himself, Spider-Man keeps swinging the beam forward, hitting him over and over again and sending him back crashing through the floor. 

Harley lets out a pained grunt. There’s a sharp pain in his chest, and he knows he’s broken a few ribs. Harley closes his eyes in dismay, it’s always harder to explain the bigger injuries to Peter. And Harley would really hate to make him worry again. He can’t spend a few days healing somewhere else other than home, because that means he’ll have to lie to his fiancé and he’s already done enough of that. 

Harley makes to get up, but when he tries too, he finds his wrists webbed to the ground. Same with his legs. 

“What the-!” He exclaims, struggling against the bonds. 

“You always let yourself get caught so easily- it’s no fun,” Spider-Man says, landing on his feet next to him. “Really, are you sure you can call yourself a hero?” 

Harley yells in frustration. It always ends like this. Spider-Man always beats him. Harley keeps thinking- keeps thinking that the next time they face off Harley will be the one walking away, leaving his enemy in chains behind him. 

He doesn’t want to lose again. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to keep fighting him. He just wants to  _ win.  _ He wants Spider-Man to stop breaking harmful villains out of jail, and endangering citizens. 

He  _ wants.  _

With a surge of uncontrolled anger, he dismantles the arms of his suit, when they fall open he slips his bare arms out from under the webs. Using a makeshift repulsive he keeps on his wrist- he burns away the string from his ankles. The floor caved in where he fell, and there’s rubble and dust everywhere. He hears the AI in his suit cataloging the damage he’s taken, and he knows he can’t handle too much more. 

When he steps over the rubble, he looks around for Spider-Man, who seems to be gone. 

Was he too late? Did he let him get away  _ again? _ How many- 

There- he sees a movement from the ceiling. He uses his wrist gauntlets to launch him up, but their far weaker than his actual ones- so he’s far more uncoordinated than he’d like to be. 

“Broke your favorite toy already? That’s too bad,” Spider-Man laughs, leaping back onto the ground in feigned confidence. Harley scowls, remembering the last few times his suit had been damaged like this. 

As Spider-Man keeps taunting him, Harley gets more worked up than he was before. He knows he should- he knows Spider-Man is  _ trying  _ to make him react, the more emotion he shows the more likely he is to fuck up. 

It’s not his fault Spider-Man is so…infuriating. 

Drifting just above him, Harley fires up another one of his repulsors. Something seems to catch Spider-Man's attention, because his eyes seem to squint at something. Right before he lets the blast go he sees Spider-Man’s bug-like eyes go wide. He seems to falter- a surprised yell cut off by Harley’s blast. 

Harley watches in shock as it hits Spider-Man square in the chest. He doesn’t usually hit him- and never somewhere vital like this. What the hell could have made the villain hesitate? 

Spider-Man skids across the floor, back slamming against the wall. He hears a crack, and Harley winces, feeling grim satisfaction at causing his enemy the same pain he’d just experienced moments before.

Spider-Man slumps to the ground- putting a hand to his chest as he wheezes painfully. Harley fires off another blow before Spider-Man can move away. This time Spider-Man brings his arms up in front of his face- it doesn’t do much for protection as he’d probably hoped. 

Harley drops back to the ground, fury from the last two years of defeats coursing through him as he steps forward, his battered armour making mechanical sounds as he walks. 

He almost falters when Spider-Man cowers back instead of running away like expected. He keeps moving forward however- he isn’t going to fall for whatever stupid trick he’s trying to play. 

He’s  _ done  _ losing. He’s done playing chase in this twisted game of his. 

He doesn’t register picking up a shard of glass from the floor. He doesn’t know what he’s doing- all he knows is that he’s angry, tired and hurt. 

It’s his and Peter’s anniversary goddammit, he just wants to go home- he wants  _ Peter  _ to come home.

He knew he wouldn’t do this if there was a possibility of killing him- but there isn't. This won’t do anything but leave him immobile for a while, and he doesn’t know if he’s chosen this method of taking him down because it’s the most painful, or if it’s because he wants to see the look in Spider-Man’s eyes when he loses. 

Spider-Man keeps standing there, completely still, he doesn’t even flinch when Harley grabs his shoulder harshly. 

“Har-” he begins, but it’s already too late. 

Harley sinks the glass into Spider-Man's stomach.

Spider-Man chokes, looking down at his abdomen with wide eyes. He doesn’t know what he expected him to do, scream, fight back, pass out maybe. However, he didn’t expect him to grab his hand- the one still holding the glass nonetheless. He doesn’t even pull his hand away, he just...holds it. 

“Harley,” he whispers, reaching his other hand to flip open his face plate. 

Harley gasps in surprise, confusion warring with a sinking feeling in his bones. Suddenly gripped by terror, he shakily removes Spider-man's mask.

He lets out a cry. 

He staggers back not wanting to look at what he’s done, but Spider- his  _ fiancé _ . Doesn’t let him get far, using whatever powers he has to make his arms stick to Harley’s armour. 

When Peter slumps to the ground Harley follows. 

Spider-Man’s Peter, Peter’s Spider-Man- his  _ soulmate.  _ His soulmate who he stabbed with a piece of dirty glass. 

Oh  _ god.  _

“Peter?” he says, already knowing it’s him- but only wanting to trust it until he hears his soulmates voice. 

“Surprise,” Peter mumbles, his face pale and eyes glazed over in pain. 

“What- how? This doesn’t make any sense,” he frets. If his hands were free he’d be pulling at his hair by now. 

“It kinda does though, doesn’t it? Why we’re always gone, why we’re both late the same days Spider-Man and Iron-Lad fight. The mysterious case under our bed, the strange phone calls you never let me hear...we were just...too oblivious.” 

“What gave it away?” And Harley doesn’t know why he’s asking such an irrelevant question when Peter is  _ bleeding  _ out in his arms. But he wants to  _ know _ . For some reason that is beyond him. 

Peter snorts, groaning pitifully when the action jostled his stomach, “You really shouldn’t wear your ring to work, Harls, it wasn’t cheap.” 

Harley’s gaze snaps to his ring finger, the one on the same hand he’d used to stab his partner. The beautiful white gem is now soaked in red, the silver dirtied and giving off an aroma of iron. 

Harley doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to wear the ring again after this. 

Peter lurches up with a pained yell that he keeps trapped behind his teeth. Harley gasps, running his hands all over Peter’s body but not knowing what to do. 

Goddamnit he’s supposed to be  _ a hero.  _ He’s trained for this. This isn’t the time to panic, especially when it’s the love of his life who's hanging on by a thread. 

Harley closes his eyes against the sight of Peter withering in pain- if he keeps watching he’ll only panic more. 

He can’t take the glass out, that’s what’s keeping him from bleeding out- but at the same time it’s what’s causing Peter pain, and will most likely cause an infection. He needs to bandage the wound, he knows that. He needs to clean it, he needs to stitch it. He has that supplies at home- but he’s worried if he moves Peter now he’ll only make the injury worse. He can’t take him to a hospital either, but maybe…

“Peter,” Harley calls out gently brushing his soulmate's bangs from his sweaty forehead, “I’m gonna call some people who can help, okay?” 

Instead of being reassured however, Peter’s eyes snap open in fear, and he lurches up- grabbing Harley’s arms in a deathlike grip. 

Harley gasps, trying to push Peter back down so he doesn’t make the wound bigger. 

Peter shakes his adamantly, “No, please. Harley, don’t call the Accords. They won’t- you  _ know  _ they won’t help me. A-at least patch me up first, t-then you can do whatever you want with me. I-I won’t even fight back- just don’t- not while I’m like this. You have to care about me enough to grant me that, right? O-or you could just l-leave me here.  _ Please, Harley. I’m begging you-”  _

Peter breaks down in sobs, the force of them causing him even more pain. Harley stares, struck dumb by the pure terror in his fiancé’s voice. Are the Accords really that bad? Why is he so scared? Surely they’d patch him up- and maybe they’d even give Peter a pardon, if Harley just  _ explained  _ that-

That what? That his fiancé is a villain? 

For a minute familiar anger rages through him, but then Peter gives one particular loud cry and it washes away, replaced by overwhelming worry. 

“Okay, okay. I won’t call them, I promise. But I’m not leavin’ you here either. I would never- I could never leave you.” He says earnestly, easing Peter back down when his earlier adrenaline rush fades away. 

“Thank you,” Peter whispers, his eyes drooping in a way that causes Harley’s stomach to turn inside out. 

Harley tries to give a reassuring smile, hoping it’s not as strained as it feels. 

Now, how to get Peter out safely. He could carry him, that’s the obvious choice- but he’s always been poor at flying with just his feet keeping him in the air. But there’s no other options it seems, and Harley really doesn’t want to spend another minute in this horrid warehouse. 

Making his decision, he carefully slides his arms under Peter, whispering soft reassurances when he whimpers in pain. Peter now safely tucked underneath his chin, he activates the repulsors underneath his feet. 

It’s only when he’s halfway home does he remember Agent Broxford. But concern for Peter wins out over guilt for leaving the agent, and he resolves to go back later to find him. 

The trip home is quiet, spent with Harley continuously looking at Peter’s face, and Peter trying to keep himself awake. Harley's heart drops every time Peter keeps them closed for more than five seconds. 

Which is...becoming more frequent.

Harley has never been more grateful for his open window, and lands softly in their bedroom. He carefully rearranges his fiancé on the bed, doing his best to ignore the way he gasps in pain.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, squeezing Peter’s limp hand before leaving for the bathroom. 

The first aid kit isn’t hard to find, seeing as they both seem to use it a lot. He finds it just under the sink, and finds some painkillers in the cabinet above. 

He returns to the room, stripping out of his suit and leaving him in a t-shirt and jeans in the process. 

He bends over his soulmate, “Can you take painkillers?” 

Peter moans, turning his head away, as if to hide from his voice. Harley furrows his brows, and lowers his voice to a whisper, repeating the question. 

“No, my- my metabolism...they...they won’t work,” he tells him, wheezing pitifully. Harley feels panic clawing its way up his throat, can he not breathe? Why is Peter struggling to breathe? Is it just the pain making him struggle to speak? Did he pierce a lung? There’s no way, the glass couldn’t have reached that far. Does he have broken ribs then?

Harley lets out a shuddering breath, trying his absolute hardest not to fall apart right here next to his injured soulmate.

“Okay,” Harley starts, hesitating, “This is gonna hurt.” 

The corners of Peter’s mouth tilt up, “Don’t worry, I’m-“ he stops, coughing, “I’m used to it.” 

“How is that supposed to make me not worry?” Harley asks, exasperated. 

Peter just blinks at the ceiling, looking at the light as if it’s offended him. 

Harley reaches towards Peter’s suit, “I’m going to have to take this off,” he warns. 

Peter nods, bringing up a hand and pushing the black spider in the center of his chest. Harley watches in fascination as the suit seems to disinflate, sagging around him like a blanket.

“Your telling me all I had to do to beat you was hit your chest?” 

Peter winces, and Harley thinks it might be too soon to joke about that- for both of them. 

He tries not to think about what this means for their relationship. 

Harley starts tugging off the suit, lifting up Peter’s arms, and siding them out. When he has the suit halfway undone, he knows the next part will be tricky. He has to peel the fabric off of the wound, and over the glass piece, he knows. He just wishes it didn’t have to hurt. 

Peter seems to realize Harley’s dilemma, because he squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his fist, and gives a short nod. 

Harley decides the best course of action is to rip it off like a bandaid. Peter yells, tears springing up to the corner of his eyes. Harley mumbles apologies, leaving the suit to hang off Peter's legs. He brushes stubborn hair away from his forehead, almost suprised at the heat radiating off of his fiancé. Does he have a fever? Is the wound infected? He knew there was a chance that could happen, but he’d hoped…

He opens the first aid kit, rummaging through for tweezers. There might be broken pieces of glass stuck in his wound. 

“I’ll be right back,” he tells peter, quickly leaving the room.

Wooden spoon in hand, he re-enters the room, hoping Peter hadn’t…

To his relief, Peter is fine. Still withering in pain, but stil breathing. 

When Peter stares at him with confused eyes, Harley places the wooden spoon near Peter’s mouth, “This’ll help.”

Peter opens his mouth, and Harley slips it in. He’s not surprised Peter starts biting down on it almost immediately.

He tears his gaze away, picking up a small cloth the wet with a water bottle, and wrapping it around his hands. He doesn’t want to cut himself with glass too. He grips the offending weapon stuck in Peter’s stomach, causing Peter to groan loudly, his pale complexion getting even paler. He knows how Peter worries about things- how anxious fiancé can get. 

So he decides to not tell him when he’ll pull- that way he won’t fret. He focuses all his attention at the task at hand, and tugs at the glass. When it seems like he’s going to have to be more careful as to not cause more damage, he slowly starts pulling the glass out. 

Peter  _ screams,  _ muffled into his wooden spoon with tears dripping down his face. Harley can’t stop his own eyes from watering, trying to hold Peter down with one hand as he continues pulling with his other. He keeps whispering apologies, knowing Peter can’t hear him. That’s fine, it make him feel better at least. 

By the time he gets the glass out- which is much bigger than he remembers- Peter is silent, and Harley would think he passed out if it wasn’t for the way Peter was trembling. He looks lethargic to say the least, pain etched in every line of his face even though he had no energy to voice it. 

Harley throws the glass to the side, and it thuds softly on their carpeted floor. 

He kinda wish it broke. 

He takes a closer look at the wound, cringing at the sight. It was yellow and pussy around the edge, and the middle was a deep red, blood coming out in streams. The cut was as jagged as the weapon was, and seeing as the surrounding area is flushed red, he knows that it’s infected. 

He’s glad to see he won’t need the tweezers, but he doesn’t think stitching it will be enough. He might have even pierced an organ- so even if he closes it up Peter would die from internal bleeding. Though, he doesn’t think he’d stabbed that deep. 

Fuck. 

He grabs the rag again, wetting it with disinfectant. He carefully washes around the stab wound, getting rid of grime and unnecessary fluids. He even goes as far to just spill some over the wound, cleaning it as much as possible.

Peter doesn’t react. 

Harley then grabs a syringe, shakily filing in with saline to irrigate the wound. He doesn’t so much remember this part from the many classes he took at the Accords, (maybe you couldn’t die, but you still expirence all the pain, and fevers that comes with injury).

He hovers the syringe over the cut, heaving a few deep breathes before he begins slowly, and as steadily as he can, pushing the liquid into the wound. This time Peter groans, his leg jerking, and hand lifting as if to push Harley away. Harley just shushes him soothingly, not once stopping the steady stream of antibacterial fluid. Finally, once the saline leaking out of the wound comes out clear of debris, and other substances, he sets it back down. 

Now the hard part. Well, the hardest. 

“I’m gonna start stitchin’,” he tells Peter, his hands shaking uncontrollably. At this rate, he won’t even be able to get the first suture in. He grabs the needle and thread. 

Not wanting to waste any more time, he pulls the wound together, which is gross, and it makes Peter wheeze in pain- and punctures the skin, pulls it out the wound, then back through the other side. He loops the thread and then ties it off with a double not, making sure it’s not too tight. He does this a few- a lot more times, feeling incredibly guilty. Peter doesn’t scream again, but he does make pathetic whimpers that cause Harley heart to constrict painfully.

When he knots the last suture, he picks up the disinfectant and cleans the wound again. 

Finally, he leans back on his heels with a sigh of relief, going to wipe the sweat of his brow when he notices how his hands are caked in blood. His eyes land on his ring, and he stares down dumbly at it. He’d been so worried about Peter’s safety that he hadn’t had time to think about feelings. 

He feels angry, and betrayed, and  _ confused.  _

Peter’s a good person- he likes dogs, and enjoys  _ babysitting  _ of all things. He watches kids cartoons, and makes sure they have a Star Wars marathon at least once a week. He loves when Harley plays with his hair- he  _ cried  _ when they had their first kiss, and he’d failed his driving test at least 4 times- and that really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. 

How the hell can Spider-Man and Peter Parker be the same person? 

And what the hell is he supposed to do about it? 

Peter makes a noise, and Harley's head snaps up, heart beating wildly. 

Thankfully, he seems to be asleep. Though, not very peacefullly. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pursed and he looks tense all over. Harley tries to shake off all his negative feelings and stands up, sitting on the edge of the bed and cards his hand through Peter’s hair, gently tugging out the knots he happens across. Like a puppet whose strings have been cut off, Peter deflates, sinking into the bed, and turning his head towards Harley. 

Harley smiles fondly, deciding he can worry about all the bad stuff later. 

-

He’s in the kitchen when Peter wakes up. He’d been scrubbing off his ring, rubbing at blood that’s not there anymore. 

He’s not pleased when he sees Peter standing next to the kitchen counter, looking at him with apprehension. Harley lifts a brow at Peter’s aquired sweats. He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to be moving around so much with the stitches still relatively new. 

“Get back in bed,” is all Harley says, looking back towards the sink. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re not suppose’ to be up yet. You’ll irritate the wound.” That’s true to, and Harley really doesn’t want Peter in more pain than he already is- also, he’s not sure he’s ready to talk to Peter yet. 

“You mean the one  _ you  _ caused in the first place? I’m not sure you're in the right place to be concerned,” Peter snaps, voice hard. 

Harley winces, ducking his head shamefully. He’s right, of course. He did it- and maybe he doesn’t deserve to be concerned about Peter- But he  _ is.  _ And if Peter could just shut up and let him take care of him, maybe Harley won’t accidently say hurtful things when he’s angry, and tired. 

If they argue now, it’s not going to end very happily. 

“I know,” Harley admits, defeated, “but I am anyway, so please- just sit down.” 

Peter falters at that, standing there for a few more seconds before nodding and wobbling over to the couch. 

Harley follows, leaving the ring beside the sink. Unsure of where they stand, he sits at least 2 seats away, back ramrod straight as he contemplates how to start. 

“So you’re Iron-Lad,” Peter states, looking displeased. Maybe even a little disappointed. It makes Harley bristle. 

“And you’re a villain,” Harley says back, ignoring the way Peter narrows his eyes. 

“If that’s what you believe,” Peter mumbles, sounding petulant. 

Harley sighs. He feels like he’s been doing that a lot recently, “What am I suppose’ to believe Peter? You break criminals out of jail, vandalise government owned properties- without  _ any  _ disregard, and quite recently hurt one of our own.” 

“Those people were innocent,” Peter snaps.

Harley looks at him, “Those people were dangerous.”

He’d know too, he’d arrested a few himself. They were angry, volatile, impulsive. They had no respect for the laws- some even went as far as to kill their soulmates. 

Peter tilts his head, a contemplative look in his eye, “Some of them were, yeah. I didn’t free  _ everyone.”  _

“Who decided you get to pick and choose?” 

Peter coughs, “Me, when I realized you guys don’t care about things that won’t benefit you somehow.” 

“That’s-”  _ not true, _ is what he wants to say. But then he remembers his superiors sending him on dangerous missions with no details whatsoever, just because they're too afraid to get their own hands dirty. 

_ But that’s what you signed up for _ , Harley reminds himself. It’s nothing he didn’t already expect. 

“What about you?” He says instead, “Are you not dangerous, Peter?” 

“I didn't do anything that wasn’t necessary,” he shrugs simply, looking a bit perturbed at the use of his name. 

“I’ve heard that before.” Harley laughs weakly, feeling like he might burst into tears. 

“It’s true. I just...Harley...you- you wouldn’t get it.”

“So  _ try _ . I won’t get it if you don’t explain it to me darlin’, because I know you would never...not on purpose but your not- I’m so confused,” Harley looks at his bare ring finger, and waits for Peter to speak. He knows he sounds desperate, but maybe Peter will take pity on him. 

Peter relents, voice small, “Okay, I'll try.” 

Harley nods, waiting in silence as Peter seems to try and gather his thoughts. He notices how his fiancé keeps grimacing when he slouches over, and frowns. Is his stomach hurting? Should he send him back to bed? 

“Do…” Peter starts, catching Harley's attention, “Do you remember Mysterio? And when he- he said I- that those drones were mine? Or that I wanted to be the new Ironman? W-well after that, no one believed in Spider-Man anymore, and the Accords went after me even though- even though they  _ knew  _ I was innocent. They didn’t even try to help me, they left me, I was only a kid- and I was all  _ alone _ ,” Peter rants, getting angrier the longer he talks about that Accords. Harley just reaches over, hesitantly grabbing Peter’s hand. Peter relaxes. 

“They went after mutates like me, a-and mutants too. Harley, these people, they didn’t do  _ anything  _ wrong. They were innocent. But the Accords didn’t like that there were people out there that were stronger than them. They felt threatened- and yeah, some of them  _ are  _ dangerous. But what are you supposed to do when no one understands you? When all of a sudden you have these new powers, and you don’t know what you're supposed to do with them?” By the end Peter has tears running down his face, and he’s squeezing Harley's hand like it’s his only lifeline. 

Harley feels like the stupidest person alive, and maybe the worst fiancé to ever exist. 

It makes sense now. It makes sense how those people were angry, and impulsive. How else do you react when people show up to your house, and tell you you're being locked up because you're a danger to society? 

It’s funny how easy it is to trick people into believing they're doing the right thing when in reality they're the bad guys. 

“ _ I’m sorry,”  _ Harley tells Peter, and he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until his soulmate is wiping the tears off his face. 

“You didn’t know,” Peter breathes, like he’s having a revelation of his own, “I thought-  _ you didn’t know.”  _

Harley shakes his head, “I didn’t, I swear- but I still- I should’ve known. I should’ve been smarter. God, I’m so sorry Peter, I-”

“Don't. It's okay,  _ we’re  _ okay now. Right?” Peter sounds insecure now, like maybe after all this Harley would leave him now.  _ As if.  _

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Harley reassures him, pulling Peter closer. 

Harley pushes his face into Peter’s neck, “I was scared,” he admits. “I thought I was gonna lose you.” 

Peter hums, “I usually heal pretty fast. But I guess soulmate caused injuries are different.” 

Harley hates that. He hates how your soulmate is supposed to be the one person you love most. But they're also the people that can hurt you the most if you're not careful. He knows some people don’t have soulmates. 

He thinks they're lucky. 

They sit there in silence, Harley wrapped around Peter as if he could protect him from the world, and Peter letting him, despite his injury. 

“You took off your ring,” Peter notes, his voice not entirely free of accusation. 

“It’s bloody,” is all Harley can tell him, even though Peter must have seen how he’d been scrubbing at it, even when there was nothing there. 

“Okay,” Peter says softly, “We can, um, get a new one.” 

Harley laughs, “Or we can just get married.” 

“I’d like that.” 

…

“I still beat you though, right?” Harley asks. 

“No. Stabbing your fiancé doesn’t count as a win.” 

“You sure? You're not just angry you lost?” 

“Shut up.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be 3,000 words. Oops? But please, constructive criticism is WELCOME. I love writers helping writers. Or even readers helping writers. Help in general would be awesome! I hope you enjoyed.


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